The Death Caller
by Northwest Sage
Summary: G1: An infamous ship with a lone survivor is recovered. What fate awaits those who rescued the damaged soldier? -Story contains Character deaths-
1. An Unexpected Visitor

_This story was originally posted under the title of TF:Gunslinger. After some reworking here and there, it's being reposted under a new title to better reflect its changes from the previous edition._

**The Death-Caller**

The motley crew of Autobots approached the crashed ship with extreme caution. Life on Asteroid 27-Delta was usually quiet and rather boring. The colony, established two vorns prior, had been gathering little more than dust and other random bits of debris ever since it was declared locked-down six months back. A trio of Autobots and a handful of Power Dashers were placed in charge of monitoring day-to-day operations, which amounted to pretty much doing nothing. The bottom line was they were put there to keep it in Autobot control, though why the Decepticons would be interested in a floating rock was open for debate.

The Power Dashers were little more than mechanical fodder in the grand scheme of things. They had one purpose, and that one purpose was to aid their fellow Autobots. The majority of them never even received a proper name, instead being labeled PD-1, PD-2, and so on and so on. They were loyal, yet somewhat primitive in their design.

While the fodder remained back at the colony, the actual Autobot warriors stood meters away from an apparent Decepticon vessel with smoke and flames escaping from its damaged structure. Sidetrack, a member of the micro-masters Battle Patrol, was the toughest of the three. Kick-Off, the lone Action Master on the asteroid, served as their security chief. Being a Transformer that couldn't transform earned him hushed ridicule and passing snickers, especially from current teammate Sidetrack. But he was good at his job, having been trained by the late and great Ironhide. The third and final Autobot standing before the mysterious craft was another micro-master, leader of the Rescue Patrol and respected medic, Fixit. He was the acting commander of the group during their tenure on the asteroid.

"What's your take on this, Kick-Off?" Fixit asked, carefully observing the craft and maintaining a respectable and safe distance.

"It's a Carnage-class ship," Kick-Off stated. "Maximum crew of nine." The Action Master had a solid understanding of Decepticon procedures, due to his time in a Decepticon re-eduction camp. His hatred for the Decepticons ran deep, matched only by the knowledge he had amassed detailing their way of operating. "It's the Death-Caller."

Fixit looked over towards his informer and could sense the rage flowing through his circuits. "Any particular reason for the name?"

Kick-Off remembered back to his imprisonment. Among the images, mangled between scenes of torture and dark-alley justice, was one that would never be erased from his memory. The sight of a ship landing in the open square within the prison, unloading dead body after dead body. It was a powerful image, one that burned itself into the data tracks of all who witnessed it. It told the prisoners there was no hope, no escape from the power of the Decepticon Empire. "When you see that ship," he answered, "Death is with it."

"That settles it," Sidetrack remarked. "Let's finish the job." In the mind of Sidetrack, there were good guys and bad guys and that's all there was to it. And anybody piloting a ship known as the Death-Caller were most definately the bad guys.

"Wait," Fixit shouted. "There may be survivors." His appreciation and respect for life included those who took the lives of others, no matter how politically incorrect such a sentiment seemed.

"Exactly," Sidetrack barked. "Let's blow it up before any survivors stumble out here. No need to go toe-to-toe when they're all sitting pretty in a nice tin box."

Fixit remained strong and stood by his decision. "That's not how Autobots do things, and you know it."

Kick-Off shared the same opinion of Sidetrack, but was more respectful towards Fixit's role of leader. "You got a life-scanner built into your programming, so use it." The security officer fought his instincts to simply blow the ship to bits, and it was a fight he wouldn't mind losing before much longer.

"There's too much radiation leaking from the ship," Fixit explained. His sensors couldn't cut through the interference, leading to a very unpopular announcement. "We'll have to go inside."

Sidetrack wasn't pleased, but complied with Fixit's order and followed his allies inside the ship. The boarding door required some muscle to open, and black smoke shot out into the alien sky. They were cautious of the scattered fires and leery of hidden survivors, but they managed to reach the battle bridge without incident. Shortly before reaching the main chamber, Fixit noticed five odd looking containment structures. Each had identical control panels, matching color-bars, and a razor covered sickle hanging eerily down the center. Kick-Off noticed the curious stares and informed the medic that they were known as Death Tubes. "They'd strap you in, flip on the energo-flow, and kill you a little at a time."

"Okay, we're here," Sidetrack barked. His weapon was charged and ready for action; his optics taking count of their discovery. Five Decepticons and four unrecognizable mechanoids lay motionless, seemingly damaged to the point of ceasing to function. "Start checking for life signs so we can get out of this tomb and destroy it."

Fixit quickly began his investigation, mentally recording the identities of the fallen warriors. "Four unknown beings," he whispered to himself, "Origins-unknown." He continued around the room, a growing sense of being watched quickening his actions. "Runamuck-Battle Charger, Shocktrooper... Runabout- Battle Charger, Shocktrooper... Krok-Action Master, Foot Soldier... Axer-Action Master, Bountyhunter... Treadshot-Action Master, Gunslinger..."

The medic's voice trailed off as his scanner picked up a faint energy signature coming from one of the charred bodies. "We have a survivor," he called out to Kick-Off and Sidetrack. "Let's get him back to the base." His teammates reluctantly did as ordered. Upon exiting the ship, they paused before continuing on and turned their weapons on the craft. Ready, willing, and eager, Sidetrack transformed into his tank mode and locked onto the outermost fuel relayer and fired away. The explosion could be heard three grids away.


	2. Meeting the Guest

_Some time later..._

"No way," Sidetrack stated with no intention of backing down. "We're here to keep this space rock in Autobot hands, that's it. Nobody said anything about playing nursemaid to a piece of Decepticon garbage. He isn't even a real Transformer, he's an Action Master!" He wasn't known for his delicate way of expressing himself, and his remark earned a tiresome glare from Kick-Off. "It's the truth," he continued, and then looked directly at the offended Autobot. "Don't look at me like that," he growled. "The one thing more detestable than an Action Master is a Decepticon Action Master."

Fixit shook his head in disgust, but was prevented from speaking by a rightfully angered security officer. "You're getting on my bad side, half-bot," Kick-Off responded.

"Fine, start name calling." Sidetrack tried to ease the tone of his voice, not so much in an attempt to play nice but more due to the fact he hated yelling. "Listen, he's one of your own kind," he reasoned. "If anyone knows what a waste that steaming pile of circuitry is it would be you."

"His name is Treadshot," Kick-Off calmly stated, surprisingly in control of his quickly dissenting anger. "And I'm constantly amazed that you still believe all Action Masters know each other."

Sidetrack seemed genuinely caught off guard. "Well, don't you?"

"That's enough." Fixit had finally had his fill of their bickering. "He poses no threat. I have a duty..."

"To save Autobot slayers?" Sidetrack interrupted.

Fixit roared back with a voice bigger than his frame would indicate. "To save lives, regardless of condition, species, or faction!" The medic quickly resumed his calm stature. "A wise Autobot once said, 'Only when every weapon is lowered, can peace be attained.' Let's view this for what it is- a goodwill outreach."

A sudden burst of movement from Treadshot's right arm startled the Autobots. Kick-Off and Sidetrack immediately aimed their weapons at their unlikely guest. He was motionless again within astro-seconds, his quick movement a result of irregular energon flow. All the recent arguing had delayed his much needed medical attention.

Realizing he was losing the battle of wills, Sidetrack begrudgingly backed down. "You know you're glitching, don't you?" That was a common slang term for acting out of sorts. "Fine. Fix him up," he continued. "Turn him into a respectable Autobot. Slap a 'red-face' on his chest and call him Treadshot Prime for all I care." He turned his back on his two allies and started walking away. "But you know as well as I do he can't be trusted. He's a Decepticon. They're programmed to kill, there's no denying that."

Fixit yelled back while Kick-Off kept a close eye on their patient. "That's never been scientifically proved... its propaganda, nothing more." His reply was met by fading laughter.

The next several days saw constant improvement in Treadshot's condition. In the rare moments Fixit was away from his patient, the three Power Dashers kept up on his treatment. PD-1, a red and black jet model, monitored the energon intake and recorded any significant increases or decreases in its flow. PD-2 and PD-3, both driller models, stood on each side of Treadshot and ran various diagnostic tests and administered electrical shocks to damaged motion relayers.

The Power Dashers were highly intelligent, a trait that was often overlooked due to their simplistic programming and their unimpressive design. Their blind ambition also caused others to look upon them with sympathetic optics. Kick-Off and Sidetrack kept their distance from the medical bay. Whether verbally or silently voiced, neither approved of the situation Fixit had created. It was a bad idea and an accident waiting to happen.

"Full diagnostic scan complete," PD-2 announced. "Damage level at eighteen percent." PD-3 checked his own data and arrived at the same results. At this rate, the Decepticon would be back to operating at full capacity within two days.

"Energon intake remains constant," PD-1 mentioned, his hands making slight movements with the control dials to ensure an uninterrupted exchange. "Flow is stable and strong, disturbances at minimal levels."

A weak and strained grown filled the room, followed by a brightening of optics and slight movements in a pair of previously still hands. "Where am I?" The patient had recovered to the point of self-continuation.

The stunned Power Dashers looked at each other with concern, then activated the communications console, summoning the Autobots to the medical bay. Treadshot once more asked where he was. Although he could do no physical harm due to his still weakened state, his tone installed a primitive fear in his audience.

"You are in the medical bay," PD-2 answered. A moment of awkward silence followed, until Treadshot asked for a more detailed response. PD-2 was quick to oblige. "Asteroid 27-Delta."

Treadshot rose up from his prone position, and staggered to his feet. Using the recovery pod to help get his balance, he surveyed his surroundings. "Power Dashers," he commented with a hint of laughter. "Times must be rough in Autobot-land if the likes of you are running the place."

"**They're** not," Sidetrack said, emerging from the massive sliding door. "**We** are."

"How nice," Treadshot coldly added. "Where's Catgut?"

Kick-Off dismissed the three Power Dashers as Fixit responded to Treadshot's question. "You're the only survivor from your ship. No other members of your crew made it."

Treadshot stumbled to one side, but managed to remain standing. "He's not a crew member, he's my weapon."

"Regardless of who he was," Sidetrack stated, "You're all that's left. Unfortunately, you didn't die with them."

"Stand down," Fixit ordered, not wanting an altercation to transpire. "We've been overseeing your repairs. You're in no danger here, you're in our care."

Treadshot cast an unsure glance at the micro-master medic. "I see. Forgive me if I show doubt," he added while turning towards Kick-Off and Sidetrack. A burning sensation erupted from within his center plate, forcing him down to one knee. "Seems I'm still in need of further repair."


	3. To Kill or Not to Kill

Treadshot's recovery continued on without further interruptions. Although never fully trusting the Decepticon occupant, both Kick-Off and Sidetrack began to show signs of reluctant acceptance. Unbeknown to Fixit, the two seasoned veterans had performed a few tests of their own to test the compliance of the gunslinger.

The first was an invitation to verbally betray his intentions. Sidetrack tried as hard as he could to provoke an outburst of rage from Treadshot. The micro-master insulted every aspect of the Decepticon Empire, yet no rebuttal was offered. In fact, Treadshot didn't utter a single word.

The second test involved Kick-Off trying to instigate a physical altercation. He circled the prone Decepticon, his fingers running alongside the outer rim of the recovery bed in an invasion of personal space. Kick-Off let off a string of harsh accusations and matter-of-fact statements, waiting eagerly for a fistfight to manifest. He secretly weakened the restrainer shields that held Treadshot's body down, allowing him the opportunity of breaking free and attacking. After several intense moments, Kick-Off ceased his provocation and left the medical bay in a state of disappointment and surprise.

As a final attempt to coax Treadshot's true nature out into the open, Sidetrack and Kick-Off ordered PD-2 to enter the medical bay with a weapon. He placed the uncharged laser rifle next to Treadshot's right hand and walked away. PD-2 stopped at one of the monitoring consoles and 'accidentally' switched the restrainer shields completely off. Kick-Off and Sidetrack waited just outside the medical bay's entrance, their weapons in hand and fully charged. Treadshot remained motionless. After what seemed to last an eternity, PD-2 was ordered to switch the shields back on, retrieve the laser rifle, and exit the room. No further 'tests' would be conducted.

Sidetrack and Kick-Off spotted their kind-hearted and ever optimistic commander nearing the base exit. "Fixit," Sidetrack called out. "Hold on a minute."

The medic stopped and turned around, curious as to what they had to say. "Make it quick," he stated. "I'm heading out to take some soil samples."

"Sounds exciting," Sidetrack commented. "Listen, I may have been too quick to write off Treadshot." Kick-Off nodded in agreement, signaling he felt the same. "We did a few things to test him, to feel him out..."

Fixit didn't seem pleased. "You did what?" he asked, angry that his teammates would do such a thing behind his back.

"We had to find out for ourselves," Kick-Off explained. "I've seen too many tricks, listened to too many lies to simply accept a change of character from a Decepticon." He paused and looked down at Sidetrack, then spoke for both of them. "We were wrong to doubt your judgment. We apologize."

Something raced past the three Autobots with animalistic speed. It was just out of their line of sight, and gone so quickly each reasoned it to be interference with their optical components, which due to the atmospheric make-up of the asteroid wasn't all that uncommon.

"Accepted," Fixit said, dismissing the assumed mirage and resuming his way out of the base. "Next time," he concluded, "Just trust me."

A few moments later, Fixit found himself several meters away from the base doors, busy collecting the soil samples he was after. From behind, the unmistakable whir of laser blasts filled his audio receptors. Leaving the dirt filled tubes on the ground, he quickly returned to the base to investigate what had happened. The medic was mortified at the carnage he found within the walls of their base.

Three heaps of smoking metal only slightly resembling Power Dashers and two broken and charred forms he concluded were Sidetrack and Kick-Off. A quick scan from his life-detector revealed what should have been obvious; five dead bodies lay before him. At the opposite end of the room, with smoke escaping from his recently reacquired pulse demagnetizer rifle- stood Treadshot. His Ravage-like partner, Catgut, stood close to his partner. It appeared that the mirage from earlier was in fact anything but optical interference.

"I don't understand," Fixit muttered weakly, the sight of all his fallen teammates choking his soul. "We brought you here as you knocked on death's door!" The realization of being betrayed, coupled with five murdered friends, began to play havoc with the medic's logic center. "We took you in... gave you shelter... repaired your broken body and you do this in return?" He roared, casting an arm towards the wasted lives. "Why?"

Treadshot stood confidently before the last remaining Autobot. As one hand raised his weapon at the final target, the other reached down and in a show of affection, stroke the head of Catgut. "When you pulled me from the crashed ship, you knew I was a Decepticon. When you brought me into your sanctuary, you knew I was a Decepticon. You've no one but yourself to blame for what has happened." He fired his primed weapon once more, sending Fixit crumpling to the ground.

Before leaving, Treadshot surveyed the carnage he created, and felt a deep sensation of satisfaction fill his body. He noticed faint twitches of life from Fixit's body, and walked towards him. The gunslinger lifted his broken body up off the ground and stared into Fixit's fading optics.

"You were right earlier, you know," he stated. "Earlier... when you mentioned that Decepticons aren't programmed to kill. You were right." Treadshot released his grip and laughed as Fixit crashed to the ground yet again. A brief flash of insanity haunted Treadshot's voice. "We're simply programmed to enjoy it."

The gunslinger found great enjoyment in crushing the medic's head beneath his cold, steel foot. He then made his way out of the base, not yet sure of where to go next.

**THE END**


End file.
